


On Your Side

by arysa13



Category: Westworld (TV)
Genre: 1x03, 1x04, Basically just the Elsie/Stubbs scenes from those eps but with shipper goggles on lmao, Bisexual Elsie, Canon Compliant, F/M, Humor, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-03
Updated: 2017-06-03
Packaged: 2018-11-08 12:32:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11081661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arysa13/pseuds/arysa13
Summary: If Elsie wants to work out what the hell is going on with these hosts, she might need some help.





	On Your Side

As far as Elsie is concerned, they’ve found the stray, so their job is done. They’ve been traipsing around the park long enough, though it hasn’t been all bad. The company definitely could have been worse. But they’ve been out here for hours, and anyway, pulling confused woodcutters out of holes is definitely someone else’s job. But then Stubbs is dropping his bag to the ground and shrugging out of his jacket and Elsie knows he has other ideas.

“What are you doing?”

“Rescue mission,” Stubbs grins. He thinks he’s so fucking hilarious. He crouches down over his bag and unzips it, pulling out what looks to be rock-climbing equipment.

“Really?” she says in exasperation.

“It won’t take long,” Stubbs promises, and Elsie resigns herself to being out here a little longer. She moves back from the edge of the crevasse to let Stubbs get on with it. What she really wants to do is get back immediately so she can discuss her theories with Bernard, because something fucking weird is going on with these hosts and she intends to find out what it is.

Elsie watches Stubbs as he hooks up the equipment, her eyes probably lingering a little too long on his arms. He looks over at her and she has to stop herself from looking away as if she’s been caught doing something she shouldn’t. She’s allowed to admire some nice arms if she wants. Although normally she’s more interested in pretty women than ruggedly handsome men. And now she’s apparently using terms like _ruggedly handsome,_ which is never a good sign. Whatever. It’s not a crime. As long as Stubbs doesn’t pick up on it, because he’d just be insufferable about it.

“Look, this is bullshit. I can have a retrieval team out here in the morning,” Elsie says, more for the sake of having something to say. He’s already got all the equipment ready, he’s not going to change his mind now.

“It’s policy, we just need the control unit,” he says, pulling on a pair of gloves. Elsie wonders if it’s less to do with policy and more to do with him wanting to be a big shot and rappel down into a crevasse, but she doesn’t comment on it. Instead, she decides to make herself useful, making a call to Bernard to let him know what’s going on. He doesn’t pick up but he’ll get the message later.

She returns to the edge of the crevasse, crouching down to peer into the abyss. She can feel Stubbs watching her but she ignores him. He lights a flare and throws it down into the darkness. Elsie looks up at him when he doesn’t immediately follow the flare down.

“Can you put it in sleep mode for me, please?” he asks, somewhat hesitantly, because of course he’s still scared that that one line of code will fail him and the host will attack him. He likes to act tough, but he’s totally transparent.

Elsie does as he asks without comment. Stubbs doesn’t waste any time after that, abseiling into the crevasse. Which is kind of hot, by the way, if she thinks about it. Which she’s not.

 Stubbs makes it to the bottom and pulls off his gloves before producing a menacing looking knife.

“Security even approve you to carry that thing?” Elsie calls down, teasing. If he can do humour, so can she. He doesn’t respond right away, but she knows he secretly thinks she’s funny.

“We just need its head and we’re done here,” he says. He positions himself behind the woodcutter and places the knife at its neck. He pauses and looks up, his amused expression only just visible by the light of the flare. “You might want to look at the stars for this part.”

Oh. He’s going to cut off its head, right. Well, that’s fucking gross. She doesn’t look away though. Well, not until Stubbs actually starts cutting and blood comes pouring out of the host’s neck. She reminds herself that however real it looks, it’s _not_ , and she forces herself to look back. And it’s lucky she does because a second later the woodcutter opens his eyes. Which is _definitely_ not supposed to happen.

“Stubbs!” she calls, panicked, immediately trying to put it back in sleep mode with her tablet. Then, as if to prove to her that irony is a bitch, the host elbows Stubbs in the stomach, sending him flying to the ground.

“Shit,” Elsie mutters, desperately working the controls on her tablet, trying to put the host back in sleep mode before it can do any further damage. She’s not sure exactly what’s going on down there but it doesn’t sound good.

“Elsie, get out of there!” Stubbs yells, and he sounds a little in pain, but at least he’s not dead. Elsie looks up from the tablet for a moment to see the woodcutter pulling himself up the rope Stubbs had left hanging there. She continues trying to control it with her tablet to no avail.

“Get the fuck away!” she says as the woodcutter comes towards her. Is he going to fucking kill her? This is not supposed to happen. She has no idea what the host is doing, what it’s trying to achieve, all she knows is she needs to get the fuck out of there. She gives up on the tablet and turns to run, tripping over her own fucking feet before she can make it two metres away. Athleticism has never been her strong suit.

She watches the host lumber forward, advancing on her, and her brain won’t work, won’t tell her what to do. She can’t even bring herself to get up or try and crawl away. All she can do is watch in terror as the host picks up a huge rock, and lifts it over his head. This is it. This is how she dies. Crushed to death by a rock wielding host, that one line of code failing her. Fucking irony.

But the woodcutter doesn’t crush her with the rock. Instead, he brings it down on his own head, hard. Over, and over, smashing his own head in, spurting fake blood everywhere, all over her face and clothes.

Her terror turns to horror and confusion as the host continues to maim itself, finally ending it with one final blow and collapsing to the ground. For a moment she can do nothing else but stare at the body in shock. Then she lifts her eyes from the host’s body to see Stubbs looking at her from the edge of the crevasse.

“You okay?” he asks, pulling himself out of the crevasse. Elsie doesn’t reply right away, still trying to calm her racing heart and heavy breathing. She looks back to the mangled host, its head completely smashed in. Later she’ll start asking questions, wondering why the host acted this way. For now she’s just glad she’s alive.

“Yeah,” she says, finally. “You?”

“Yeah,” Stubbs replies. He holds out a hand and Elsie considers for a moment before she takes it, allowing him to help her to her feet. She brushes herself off, ignoring Stubbs’ scrutinising gaze. She’s not used to this sincerity with him. It’s normally all teasing jabs and sarcasm. He’s not like that with everyone, she knows, but his genuine concern throws her a little off kilter. “I thought for a second you were in trouble.”

“So did I,” Elsie swallows, though she hates to admit it. The hosts aren’t supposed to pose any threat to real people. But she can’t deny she’d feared for her life when the woodcutter had started advancing on her.

“This is why I carry a gun,” Stubbs says, and Elsie gives a small snort of laughter, happy the serious moment has passed. The adrenalin hasn’t entirely worn off but she can see the humour in it now that the danger is over.

“Fat lot of use it did,” she says. “And if it weren’t for you and your fucking policy we could have left him in that crevasse and someone else could have dealt with it.”

Stubbs grins. “And missed out on all the action? You know you’d be kicking yourself if you didn’t see that with your own two eyes.”

Elsie grunts, knowing he’s right but not wanting to give him the satisfaction. He’s smirking at her, like he knows exactly what she’s thinking. Elsie squints at him slightly, a smile playing on her own lips.

“What?” she says, suspiciously. Stubbs shakes his head, still smirking. He surprises her then, reaching out a hand, rubbing his thumb across her jaw. She doesn’t stop him but she raises an eyebrow, even more confused. Maybe he’s the one who’s gone moon mad.

“You’ve got blood on your face,” he explains, pulling his hand away.

“So do you,” she tells him. “It’s not real blood, remember?”

Stubbs rolls his eyes. Elsie glances at the host’s body lying motionless on the ground. Stubbs follows her gaze. Elsie’s mind starts whirling, trying to come up with possible reasons for the host’s strange behaviour.  

“Come on,” Stubbs says, interrupting her thoughts. “We should go get cleaned up. Report the incident. You can analyse him later.”

Elsie’s eyes snap back to Stubbs.

“What are you, a mind reader?”

“You’re just predictable,” he laughs. “Come on.”

Elsie helps him gather his gear and they trudge back towards the closest park entrance in relative silence. Mostly because Elsie is still trying to make sense of all the weird shit going on with the hosts.

“Stop it,” Stubbs says, and when Elsie glances at him he’s wearing a wry smile.

“I’m not doing anything.”

“I can hear you thinking.”

“But it’s weird, don’t you think?”

“That a host smashed its own head in with a rock? I’ll say.”

“Not just that,” Elsie says. “The fact that he went AWOL in the first place. That he was… I don’t know… doing things we didn’t program him to do.”

“Looking at stars,” Stubbs grins. Elsie frowns and Stubbs drops the grin.

“Do you ever get the feeling that something big is going on and we’re the only ones who aren’t in on it?”

Stubbs is quiet again for a moment and Elsie wonders if maybe she misjudged, including him in the _we_. Maybe _she’s_ the only one who isn’t in on it. But he doesn’t look guilty, and she wants to trust him. Honestly, other than Bernard he’s probably the only person is this god forsaken place that she finds tolerable. For all the bickering and teasing, she actually likes the guy. He’s a steady, constant figure in her daily life, and even though he answers to Theresa, she doesn’t mind having him around.

“No,” Stubbs says finally.

“No?”  Elsie hadn’t been expecting that.

“If there was something going on, I’d know about it.”

Elsie scoffs. “You sure about that?”

“It’s my job to know these things.”  

“What do you make of the woodcutter then?”

Stubbs shrugs. “Malfunction.”

“You have no faith in me, do you?”

“I never said that.”

Elsie glances at him. He glances back. Maybe he’s in on it after all. Whatever “it” is. That would be disappointing.

“You’re being paranoid,” Stubbs tells her. “Not everything is a conspiracy.”

“You don’t think that the fact that a host tried to fucking kill us tonight is proof of a conspiracy?”

“It didn’t try to kill us,” Stubbs points out stubbornly. “Otherwise we’d be dead.” Elsie feels like she could strangle him.

“You’re saying you trust everyone who works here?” she asks incredulously.

“’Course not,” Stubbs snorts. “Look, I’m not trying to make you think you’re crazy. I’m just saying… don’t do anything stupid.”

“I’ve never done anything stupid in my life.”

“Of course you haven’t.”

“Whatever. You don’t have to believe me. Can you just do me one favour?”

“What?” Stubbs asks suspiciously.

“Don’t tell Theresa about this yet?” Elsie says, holding her breath, hoping he’ll grant her this one request. Maybe he does think she’s crazy, and there’s every possibility he’s right. But she’s so certain there’s something deeper going on, and if she can just get him on her side maybe she can figure it out.

But he doesn’t look impressed with her request.

“I don’t know, Elsie…” he says uncertainly.

“I just need a little time alone with the body,” she tells him. “Please.” She doesn’t think she’s ever said please so sincerely in her life. Stubbs sighs.

“I can’t promise anything,” is all he says, and Elsie supposes that will have to do.

They head back to their respective quarters to clean themselves up before doing anything else, apart from Elsie sending message to Bernard to let him know what had gone down, and a request for a retrieval team to go and get the host’s body. Hopefully they’ll bring it in first thing in the morning and she can mess around with it a bit before Theresa finds out what happened and demands answers. She’s for sure going to blame this on Bernard, unless Elsie can figure out who’s _actually_ behind the weird behaviour before it’s too late.

But there’s nothing she can do for now so she sheds her clothes as soon as she’s back in her room and throws her blood and dirt covered clothes into the laundry, placing the woodcutter’s carving beside her bed for safekeeping. She takes a long shower, taking care to scrub the fake blood from her face. The memory of Stubbs gently rubbing her jaw with his thumb pops into her head, unbidden. She’s annoyed at herself that the weirdly intimate gesture made enough of an impression on her that she’s dwelling on it an hour later. She quickly shuts off the water, ignoring the memory and proceeding to dry herself off and pull on her pyjamas. She tries to pick up a book and read, but she can’t focus, still too worked up from the encounter with the woodcutter, and the impatience to find out more.  

She tries to think about something else, anything else. But work is her whole life, and she normally doesn’t think about anything else. She doesn’t normally mind, but maybe it’s sad, the fact that she has nothing outside the company. The only family she has is her mother who she doesn’t really speak to, not because of anything bad that happened between them but just because they have nothing in common. She has no love life to speak of, because of the afore mentioned work. She knows there are a lot of intra-office relationships that go on, but honestly? Fuck that. None of the people who work here are good enough for her anyway. No one seems to be able to handle her sharp tongue and loud mouth. Even Bernard wants her to shut up sometimes.

Although, Stubbs seemed to take it all in his stride today, even biting back at her with his own (less than witty) jokes. He’s normally so solemn around the office, and he obviously takes his job seriously. But it’s nice that he can actually take a joke, unlike so many of the others she works with. Plus, he has those nice arms.

Wait. What the fuck is she thinking? _Stop being fucking ridiculous, Elsie,_ she scolds herself. He’s Stubbs, her annoying but tolerable co-worker. Nothing more. So, he has nice arms and touched her face one time. He’s still just some guy. _Some guy who isn’t on your side_ , she reminds herself. No amount of friendly banter and near-death experiences will change that.

She needs some fucking sleep.

-

Despite her best efforts, when Elsie arrives at the behaviour lab the next morning, Theresa is already there, looking thoroughly displeased. The woodcutter has been retrieved and sits motionless on a stool, his head mangled and even more disgusting looking under the fluorescent lights of the lab.

Stubbs is there too, his shoulders squared and his eyes trained straight ahead like he’s ready to take orders, along with some other minion of Theresa’s Elsie has never bothered to learn the name of. They come and go.

Elsie glances at Stubbs as she pushes open the glass door but he’s looking steadfastly straight ahead. Instead she makes eye contact with Theresa who purses her lips disapprovingly.

“Glad you could make it,” Theresa says, as if Elsie is interrupting her busy schedule with menial tasks. Elsie wants to tell her she’s welcome to leave, but somehow she manages to hold her tongue.

“I guess you heard what happened then,” Elsie says, with another unsuccessful glance at Stubbs.

“Mr Stubbs has kindly filled me in,” Theresa says. Elsie pulls up a stool as she gets her tablet out, ready to be attacked with the slew of questions she’s sure Theresa has. She just has to convince Theresa that nothing is out of the ordinary. She hopes Stubbs hasn’t said anything to give her away. In hindsight, she may have said too much to him last night.

“Now, Ms Hughes—“ Theresa starts, and Elsie interrupts her.

“Elsie is fine,” she tells her. Theresa somehow manages to purse her lips even harder than before.

“What exactly happened with this host?” she gestures to the woodcutter. Elsie’s gaze follows Theresa’s hand.

“It’s nothing, really,” Elsie shrugs. “Just a malfunction. Nothing out of the ordinary.” She manages to catch Stubbs’ eye this time and he raises an eyebrow at her. So she’s not convincing him. She only needs to convince Theresa.

“You’d characterise this as normal host behaviour?” Theresa all but scoffs.

“No, I would not characterise this as normal host behaviour,” Elsie says, because she has to be a little bit honest or Theresa will get suspicious.

“Yet you’re describing it as within normal parameters.”

“Well, it didn’t hurt us. Its behaviour was unconventional…”

“It smashed its own head in with a rock,” Theresa reminds her, as if she could have forgotten. Elsie quickly scrambles for a reason, something plausible that she can feed Theresa.

“It is possible that it’s a manifestation of its Samaritan reflex…” Elsie tries, following Theresa over to the host, but Theresa sees right through her.

“And it’s also possible that behaviour takes a proprietary approach to problems like this, to avoid having to admit when they fuck up,” Theresa says, almost triumphantly.

Elsie has nothing to say to that, for once in her life. She swallows, resists looking over her shoulder at Stubbs. She knows he’s watching her, taking all this in. He was there last night. He could say something, but he doesn’t. Elsie doesn’t miss the look Theresa gives him, as if to convey her annoyance at this incompetent behaviour tech. Elsie seethes inside, but she keeps her cool. There’s nothing to gain from snapping at Theresa at this point.

“Do we have any idea what caused it to go off loop?” Theresa probes.

“No. But I am hoping to recover some of its cognition,” Elsie says. She hears the door open and look around to see Bernard walk in. Fucking finally. “We managed to stabilise its wetware before there was too much decomposition.” She presses a few keys on the tablet to get the host up and running, then points at the mangled head. “See?”

Bernard studies the smashed in head. “Interesting.”

“Is there any hope of actually extracting something from this?” Theresa says, obviously getting more exasperated by the minute.  Elsie is pretty sure something _can_ be extracted from it and she intends to prove it to Theresa. She returns to her stool and starts messing around with the tablet.

 “We can try,” Bernard answers.

“No. My team will take over the investigation now,” Theresa says, adamant. Elsie looks up, outraged.

“Your team? Are you kidding me?” The random minion, who up until this point Elsie had forgotten was even in the room, slides into a stool across from her, pulling out his own behaviour tablet, looking all too smug. “Look, this guy couldn’t debug a balled-up napkin! If you would like us to figure out what went wrong here, we need to be allowed to access it.” She’s being reasonable. Surely Theresa can see that?

“No more second chances. QA will handle events like this from now on,” Theresa tells her, and Elsie knows there’s no arguing the point now. She resists the childish urge to pout, and the slightly more adult urge to swear. Theresa turns to Bernard. “Is that going to be a problem Bernard?”

Elsie looks over at him. He’s the only one who can reason with Theresa now.

“We’ve all got plenty of work on our plates. If you guys want to take this one, fine. Just get us a copy of the post mortem when it’s done,” he says. Elsie can hardly believe her ears. This is such bullshit. Bernard gives her a look, almost like a warning look before exiting the room.

“You can go too,” Theresa tells her and Elsie gives her a look of disgust before following Bernard. She doesn’t bother appealing to Stubbs, though she senses that he’s trying to communicate something to her with his eyes. She’s a little pissed at him though. She asked him for one thing and he didn’t come through. Didn’t say a fucking word the whole time Theresa was interrogating her, questioning her abilities. Fat lot of use he was.

Elsie puts Stubbs and Theresa out of her mind as she catches up to Bernard.  She’s pissed at him too, but at least she feels like she can confront him about it. Bernard is actually supposed to be on her side. After all, she’s keeping secrets for _him_.

“You know, I always figured you gave me this job because I speak my mind,” she says as she reaches him.

“I did.”

“Good,” she smiles condescendingly. “I would have preferred you not show up at all if the first thing you were going to do was cave.”

“They think we’re not telling them something.”

“And we’re not! There is clearly a pattern of behaviour here.” Bernard stops walking and turns to her. “First there’s Abernathy, and now there’s this. I mean I’ve got hosts hearing voices and climbing mountain tops to consult their astrological chart. This is not a fucking glitch.” She shoves her tablet in his face, a picture of the woodcutter’s carving of Orion on the screen.

“And for some reason, you don’t want me to tell anyone! It is like everybody around here’s got some kind of fucking agenda, except for me, and—“  she glances back to the room she’d just come out of. _Stubbs,_ is what she’d being going to say, but Bernard puts his hand on her shoulder gently, stopping her. “What?” she says, lowering her voice. Bernard leads her a little further down the hallway. Elsie watches him, waiting expectantly for whatever important piece of information he’s about to drop.

“I remember when I first started here. The hosts seemed very lifelike. You begin to read things into their behaviours.”

“Don’t be patronising.”

“Fine. The hosts don’t imagine things. You do.”

Elsie looks at him disbelievingly. Is he trying to tell her she’s crazy, after all this? He points to the picture on her tablet. “That’s no Orion. There are three stars in Orion’s belt. Not four.”

Elsie looks down at the picture in surprise, and apparently that’s the end of the conversation because Bernard walks away, leaving her even more confused than before. What the fuck. Is he right? _Does_ Orion’s belt have only three stars? Probably. She’s not a fucking astronomer. Neither is Stubbs apparently. All she knows is she desperately needs to get some alone time with the woodcutter.

“Elsie.”

She looks up from the picture to see Stubbs standing there.

“Does Orion’s belt have three or four stars?”

“How should I know?”

“It was you that said—never mind,” she sighs. She’s done discussing this stuff with him. “Did you want something?”

“I just wanted to apologise. I know you wanted to get to the host first, but—“

“I get it,” she cuts him off. “Don’t know why I bothered asking. I should’ve known you’d be on Theresa’s side, she’s your boss after all.”

“I’m not on Theresa’s side.”

“Sure seems like it.”

“I’m just doing my job,” he points out. Elsie rolls her eyes.

“Do you _always_ follow the rules?” she mocks. Something flashes in Stubbs’ eyes, and she thinks maybe she actually hit a nerve this time.

“The rules are there for a reason, Elsie,” he huffs. “To keep the guests – and us – safe.”

“Sometimes the rules are fucking dumb.”

“There are no sides,” Stubbs says. “I’m trying to do what’s best for the park.”

“Whatever you say.”

“If there _were_ sides…” he hesitates, like he’s considering whether or not he should say what he wants to say. “I’d be on your side.”

“Fuck you.”

“Nice.” He raises an eyebrow at her, and she swears he almost smiles. Elsie watches him, wondering if he’s got something else to say or if they’re done. “I didn’t tell her anything you said last night. That you think there’s something more going on.”

“Good for you,” Elsie says, but he’s right. He could have told Theresa everything but he didn’t.

“Look,” he says. “The body will be taken down to livestock eventually.”

“I know,” she says. She’s going to have to blackmail a tech to give her access to the body, but it shouldn’t be too hard, seeing as they’re always doing shady shit down there. Fucking the hosts, mostly. She knows because the hosts log the encounters, unbeknownst to the pervs down in livestock. That won’t be enough though, she needs some photographic proof.

“You got a plan?” Stubbs asks her.

“You’re not going to turn me in?”

“We both know you’ve got a much better chance of finding out what’s wrong than that dipshit who… how did you put it? Can’t even debug a balled-up napkin?” he grins, and Elsie manages a half smirk.

“You have access to security footage, right?” she asks. Stubbs nods. “I need some blackmail material.”

“Plenty of that.”

Maybe he is on her side after all.  


End file.
